


When Two Hearts Beat As One

by KenrakenOkwaho



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Curses, F/M, Flying Dutchman, Ghosts, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Titles, Implied Slash, M/M, Male Slash, No Smut, Plot Twists, Post-At World's End, Pre-Slash, Purgatory, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Souls, for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenrakenOkwaho/pseuds/KenrakenOkwaho
Summary: What if Will didn't take Davy Jones' place as captain of the Flying Dutchman? What if Jack chose to be the one to take the curse upon himself instead? What if James' soul didn't pass away after he saved Elizabeth?And so, the story of a pirate and a British Royal Navy officer begins, two complete opposites, two cursed souls who happen to run into one another in the darkness of the afterlife. They never thought they'd be each other's salvation, but here they are, sailing together on abyssmal waters. Destiny has a funny way of showing them that they belong together.





	1. The Derelict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!  
> Drink and the devil had done for the rest  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!  
> The mate was fixed by the bos'n's pike,  
> The bos'n brained with a marlin spike,  
> And Cookey's throat was marked belike  
> It had been gripped  
> By fingers ten;  
> And there they lay,  
> All good dead men  
> Like break-o'-day in a boozing-ken  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
> 
> Fifteen men of the whole ship's list  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!  
> Dead and be damned and the rest gone whist!  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!  
> The skipper lay with his nob in gore  
> Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore  
> And the scullion he was stabbed times four.  
> And there they lay,  
> And the soggy skies  
> Dripped all day long  
> In upstaring eyes  
> In murk sunset and at foul sunrise  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
> 
> Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!  
> Ten of the crew had the Murder mark  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!  
> 'Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,  
> Or a yawing hole in a battered head  
> And the scuppers glut with a rotting red  
> And there they lay  
> Aye, damn my eyes  
> All lookouts clapped  
> On paradise  
> All souls bound just contrariwise  
> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Captain Jack Sparrow isn't a man of his word. Every pirate, whore, blacksmith and redcoat in the Caribbean knows this. But, on the very rare occasions when he chooses to let courage, honesty and honour weasel their way to the surface of his heart, he ends up one step closer to temporary, if not permanent, death. On these occasions he chooses to become the man everyone expects him to be, he chooses to act on the disgusting moral instinct buried deep inside because he cares, he cares more than he wants to admit. He chooses to disguise this weakness under false claims of seeking immortality. That's how, after years of adventures and rum and nights of passion in Tortuga, he finds himself on the Flying Dutchman, the raw heart of Davy Jones fighting fiercely to keep up its slowly fading beats.

He doesn't know exactly when it happened. One second he is mockingly threatening the despicable squid, the next he envisions the cutlass aiming to pierce Will's heart. He sees it before it strikes, and that's what saves the lad. In a flash, he can feel the short blade sinking into pumping arteries and veins. In hindsight, it is so foolish of him to do that, he's trampling on years upon years of mischief and schemes to stay alive. But... he can't say that it isn't worth it. Jack would be the most terrible liar if he'd say that the pure shock on the devil's face and the asynchronous breaths his lungs struggle to inhale aren't satisfying to watch. The darkest part of him enjoys and prides itself with having the privilege of witnessing the way Davy Jones stumbles overboard, whispering his precious Calypso's name. Yet that part is just a flicker of ink trickling back to the deepest corners of his soul, replaced by relief and an odd sense of contentment as he watches Will and Elizabeth, by fear as he hears the haunting chant of the monstrous crew, by helplessness and regret as he tells them to run with the promise to see them in Tortuga in a decade. They are surprisingly stubborn, but logic and survival win, in the end. Dark brown orbs follow the two while they find their way off the doomed ship, hands tightening around each other and the rope before Will pulls the trigger. He doesn't miss the flying monkey passing by, smiling in amusement despite the dire situation.

At last, he takes a look around, gaze tracing over each member of his future crew, landing on the familiar face of Bootstrap as he approaches, blade held tight in his hand, ready to carve out his heart. A shudder rakes his body just from thinking about seeing them for all eternity, inevitably become like them, at some point. Oh, but there is no turning back now, is there? He chose the right path, the honourable one. All this because he cares too damn much about the bloody son of a traitorous, yet noble buccaneer and the rebellious daughter of a Governor. The sigh that glides past his lips is one of acceptance, eyes closing along with his consciousness.

 

He feels no pain.

 

When he wakes up, he quivers with emptiness. Gone is the Sparrow that could soar through the sky, wild and free as it danced with the sea. Gone is the famous pirate of the Caribbean, the fearless and, more often than not, despised captain of the Black Pearl. Gone is the Jack they knew. In his place stands only a shell, a literally heartless man whose hope of being able to remain unwavering, unchanged, shines bright, waiting to be crushed by the hard truth of the curse as the galleon is once again pulled down into the most tenebrous depths of the Seven Seas.

Years go by, and Jack is not the same. He's part of the crew, he is their rightful captain and he is content, watching his now comrades fight and laugh and drink rum even if their taste buds cannot feel its real and unmistakable flavour, trading stories under the murky waters until the next call of death summons his mighty vessel. More often than not he finds comfort in the brief conversations that strike up with Bootstrap, huh, the man didn't leave the Dutchman although he could... maybe it had something to do with the part that he played in that mutiny a lifetime ago. All in all, everything would almost seem normal if they weren't who they are. Sometimes he looks at himself in the barely clear mirror in his quarters. He's changed so much, yet still so little compared to the previous devil of the seas. The slow mutation of his face is not perplexing at all, he embraces it as it takes over the lively eyes that were once shadowed by kohl and the tanned skin that was once caressed by the ardent sun and the saline wind. He has no other choice or else he'll go insane. He's hollow, a void of resignation drowning him with every cursed day they spend doing their duty, the routine of ferrying souls boring him to no end. Until, one night, when the stars twinkle and the silver rays of the moon cascade over the tranquil sea between the living and the dead, he spots a single boat drifting away from the others, like a lone fire fly separated from his brethren. He sees it each time they cross the borders amidst worlds, never too far, never too near, neither lost, nor wanting peace. The barnacled scallywags who find the bravado to ask why he simply lets it float into nothingness leave with the question unanswered. Not because he doesn't want to answer, he is a fairly lenient and kind captain, but because he himself can't find the reason for this hesitation.

Time sails side by side with Jack. His father's words still ringing in his ears  _"It’s not just about living forever, Jackie. The trick is living with **yourself**  forever." _Back then, he thought he could... now... now he knows how wrong and foolish he was to even think that. He has been trying to come to terms with himself for the past decade and, perhaps, he'll never stop. So he keeps pondering these words until the ten-year "anniversary" of his phantom captaincy finally arrives and the endless sand graining in his hourglass just stops. It is the only thing that urges him to count the dreadful days, that keeps him anchored to a side of him buried under the wistful tide, this promise of setting foot on land again, of being free no matter for how short a while it is. He never thought he'd abnegate the sea, she never was his gaoler, she was his only true and faithful lover, but oh, how things have changed and, here he is, wishing for a life that wasn't and never will be his. And, as the rugged vessel sails towards the yet unseen world of the living, Jack spots the lonely boat again, floating in the same place it always does when they pass by to see how fare the dead. Then, he decides. It's time to see who's steering aimlessly into this watery abyss of death.

 

And on they sail, a melancholic tune caressing his lips.

 

 _Old lady with a barrow; life near ending_  
_Standing by the harbour wall; warm wishes sending_  
_Children on the cold sea swell_  
_Not fishers of men_  
_Gone to chase away the last herring:_  
_Come empty home again._

 

When they are beside the half-rotten wreck, his eyes widen in a mix of disbelief, confusion, happiness and ease. Translucent sea-green orbs lift slowly from their abstruse perusal to meet his, pervading his locked heart with recognition, the phantom of a beat echoing through the hole in his chest along with words spoken in a seemingly ancient time and certainly in another life.

 

"You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."

 

The smirk that spreads across Jack's face is but a ghost of the man who died that faithful day along with Calypso's maelstrom. A ghost, a lost semblance of himself that he has found again.

 

"But you have heard of me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "The Flying Dutchman" by Jethro Tull
> 
> I might make it a multi-chapter story, but I'm not sure yet.  
> You can also find me on Tumblr at kenrakenokwaho.tumblr.com
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and I'm waiting for your feedback, 'cause what's more important than feedback these days! Hugs!


	2. Storm Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a little boring and short and lacks dialogue, but I'm in a chasm of writer's block so forgive me.

They say that when one dies, their life flashes so vividly, yet so clear before the dimming light of their eyes, replaying every memory that veiled itself in the deepest corners of their mind.

James Norrington was much the same. Along with the sword embedded in his flesh, fresh images of people, waters, cities he had forgotten spring joyfully inside his head. He was not afraid of death, that much he's made it clear. He died in peace, untroubled and content. Elizabeth was safe.

The former Commodore remembers well the fluttering beats of his heart before it stopped, the comforting darkness that closed around his vision. He remembers the second he opened again his eyes, a sea of boats and lamps cradling him in what he thought was the afterlife, never speaking, always moving. But they moved on and he did not and, damn it, he tried, he tried so many times. To no avail, each time, the boat that kept his soul afloat bumped into an invisible barrier, frustration tearing at his numb senses as he continued his pointless attempts anyway, waiting for something, but not knowing what.

And so, James waits. He has been waiting from the moment he drew his last breath on that bloody ghost ship. It feels like an eternity has passed since then, but, perhaps, it hasn't even been that long... at least it's quiet as he lets his eyes get lost into obscurit. They never go astray. He often asks himself why it seems he can't move on. Maybe his burdens, the unrequited feelings and unfulfilled wishes are to blame, his soul too smothered and too tainted to find peace.

 

 _Old lady with a barrow; life near ending_  
_Standing by the harbour wall; warm wishes sending_  
_Children on the cold sea swell_  
_Not fishers of men_  
_Gone to chase away the last herring:_  
_Come empty home again._

 

The dark has been his comrade for so long that songs and whistles sound strange to his ears. That voice... it's so familiar, yet far, so far away. A thought strikes him, he's heard this tune before... _The Flying Dutchman_ it is called... such a coincidence or... maybe not... but... no... it can't be, why would it sail here without purpose... have they won? Is it even real? Is the squid dead or is he not? So many questions come to mind, questions that rise to the surface once in a while, no answers to be paired with them more often than not.

For the first time since his cruel imprisonment, James lets his gaze wander. He sees the galleon, grand and proud, beside his puny boat. Then... then, he sees **him**. The pirate hasn't changed and James is glad for that. Yet the light that shone once in those cunning eyes is gone... it surely died... because the man himself is dead inside, without a heart, without its tepid tide.

James doesn't smirk or smile or mock, he says the words he knows they both need, the words that once branded them as enemies, so different, yet, in a way, alike so much.

"You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."

Sparrow's answer is almost instant, the smug smirk parting his chapped lips is still as aggravating as ever, but it is more than welcome.

"But you have heard of me."  

◇◇◇

Jack doesn't ask him to come aboard, and James doesn't even try to. They stay still in the overwhelming silence dancing with the lurid darkness of the aqueous purgatory as repressed glints of hope fight to flicker through both pairs of enigmatic eyes. For what are they hoping? Neither of them is sure. Maybe they are hoping to find some remnant of the peace and familiarity they briefly had, maybe they are hoping to remember the blurry memories of moments that have turned to dust years ago or... perhaps they wish to open the cages of their hearts, one beating and the other gone, and finally set free the feelings they've been hiding for so long. In vain. The erstwhile Admiral turns his gaze away, lost once more into the timeless tide of souls and death, while the Dutchman sails forth into the shadows, where human essence drifts towards eternity, never to see the shore of life again.

For ten years, the trapped Sparrow longed to see the Pearl, his comrades turned enemies and back, he yearned for rum, the tickle of the sand under his feet and palms... he longed to see Elizabeth and Will, to ask them how they've been since they met last. Yes, he wished for all of that, despite his unemotional facade... and he's surprised, so, so surprised when he hoists his sails onto the waters of Tortuga and before his eyes appears his one and only ship, aboard, the people he will undoubtedly refuse to admit he truly missed. Barbossa isn't there, Jack should be glad, but still... a part of him misses the old bastard and his irritating monkey. He's disappointed, but that's that and it doesn't really matter. Ironically, he doesn't even step on land. They drink and cheer and joke and sing, the little Henry Turner starstruck and completely fascinated by the entire atmosphere. Jack laughs, so much like parents, the apple does not fall far from the tree it seems. He awes them with stories about underwater creatures, about nights of ferrying souls and fearful sailors. He tells Will about his father, he tells Elizabeth about her father and... he tells them about James. The astonishment that flashes in every pair of widened eyes around him is to be expected, brows either knitting or raising high up to the sky. They don't ask much, only if the man is truly dead. The pirate himself is not sure how to respond to that so he just marks him as some kind specter, damned to spend eternity in solitude and murk along with Jack. A glimmer of something akin to determination takes over the variously coloured irises embarked on the ship. But the moment quickly passes, and, as seconds tick and night looms more and more over the day, he wants to let himself drown into the warm embrace of bygone memories, although he knows he can't. Yet... throughout all this he can't help but keep thinking... thinking restlessly about the lonely man he left behind into that pitch-black void, alone, amort, and unable to extinguish the remanent flare of his soul.

The day is over before he even blinks, the sun setting rapidly on the horizon as it paints the sky blood-red and seagulls sing their shrilling lullaby. Saying their goodbyes, they let him go with the unspoken promise of finding a way to lift Calypso's curse before his next visit in ten years. With that, the sky, the clouds, the tranquil waters blend with bright colours painted by the sunset, a forlorn _Dutchman_ gone into a flash of green.

A sense of peace envelops every fiber in his undead body when he finds himself at the bottom of sea. It's odd, but he is grateful for it, nonetheless. It doesn't last. Departing souls never take breaks and Jack's quite happy because then... then, he will see James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not sure about the multi-chapter initiative, but at least I managed to write more :))


	3. One More Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh have you heard the news, my Johnny?  
> One more day!  
> We're homeward bound tomorrow,  
> One more day!  
> Only one more day, my Johnny  
> Only one more day!  
> Oh rock and row me over,  
> One more day!
> 
> Oh heave and sight the anchor, Johnny  
> One more day!  
> Oh heave and sight the anchor,  
> One more day!  
> Only one more day, my Johnny  
> Only one more day!  
> Oh rock and row me over,  
> One more day!
> 
> I'm bound away to leave you, Johnny,  
> One more day!  
> But I will not deceive you,  
> One more day!  
> Only one more day, my Johnny  
> Only one more day!  
> Oh rock and row me over,  
> One more day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was about time for a flicker of humanity so here you go! I also suck at dialogue, sorry :)) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy!

And when he does, well, he just can't contain himself.

"Missed me, mate?"

James' hands clench straightaway into tight fists, but he refuses to look up at the impudent captain. This reaction along with the annoyed expression that highlights chiseled features always amused Jack when they were alive and it continues to do so as he lets out a chuckle.

"C'mon, luv, I know me charm's impossible t' forget."

This time, green depths of emptiness snap up to glare at him, words still evading the impulse to speak as eyes begin to turn away and resume their unfocused state.

But Jack's persistent, he's always been like this, so stubborn, so intent to live. He was born at sea, during a typhoon and at least one month too early. They didn't give him much of a chance, saying that he was too small and weak to make it through the night and yet... he did, the little sparrow flapped his wings and he took flight. From then, he kept eluding death. Huh, it seems he was meant to fail, in the end. But enough of this useless introspections about his unfortunately lost life, he has to coax the noble lad to find a reason to fight back.

"I told Lizzie 'bout you, y'know? Poor lass, she nigh met the Pearl's deck from shock."

The other's instantly tense poise doesn't go unnoticed. Jack goes on.

"She be askin' if you still lov' 'er, bu-"

Jack revels in the fury suddenly directed at him through both words and fiery eyes "Quiet, Sparrow! I've had enough of your nonsense."

 _"Captain..."_ is the first thought he gets after this response, but he refrains from voicing it as he resolves to tease the uniformed man further.

"Blimey! So you **can** speak after all! I reckoned you've gon' either mute 'r deaf... or both."

An exasperated sigh can be heard billowing into the darkness "I'm dead, Sparrow, whatever you did on your trip does not concern me."

"Aye, but you see, your presence in these waters concerns **me**."

"I don't see how, it isn't your territory, it's just a... patrolling route let's say. I am allowed to linger here for however long I want."

"Jamie, luv, don't be so pig-headed, we both know you're not exactly in Fiddler's Green right now."

Another deep sigh "What do you want?"

Jack's terribly satisfied grin irks the British officer to no end, the slurred words that come next echoing around them with their impish tint.

"I want you, me dear wraith, t' climb aboard an' join me fantastic crew in our mission to ferry th' souls."

"Why?"

Suddenly, a shadow casts itself over Jack's eyes, dismal and somewhat aggressive, but repressed and narrowly concealed by the light tone of the pirate's voice.

"You ask too many questions, me lad. Does it really matter why?"

In hindsight, it probably does not, he has no body to return to anyway, but it was an understandable instinctive question, one that reflects greatly the wary nature of a trained naval officer, even in death. James can see that the Black Pearl's former captain is reluctant if not completely averse to the idea of revealing his reasons, so he doesn't press the matter as he stands and grabs the ship's netting in order to make his way up onto the deck.

An eerily verdant arm extends to hoist him up. He hesitates for a split second before he grabs the likely freezing hand... he wouldn't know, he is an insensate entity after all.

Up there, the world is somewhat different... lively, the human men trapped under the seaweed and crustaceans dozing off in humid corners, some teetering and laughing, some brawling in jest whilst they feign doing their duties. It's refreshing to see some form of vitality again, it's been a while. He only wishes that he were alive too... Errant through his musings, James doesn't notice the wandering eyes taking in every detail of his unearthly form.

Still clad in the impeccable gold-trimmed uniform of the British Royal Navy, bewigged and resplendent in its fine blue fabric, James Norrington is the most exquisite sight he's seen since he first took command of this darn galleon. Ethereally pale skin tinges a Hellenic nose and a strong jaw, contrasting with the colours of the other's clothes, thin yet fairly plump lips slightly parted with curiosity as pellucid viridescent orbs assert carefully foreign surroundings, oblivious to the dusky deadlights following his every movement. Jack is enthralled, perhaps more so than the first time they met. He didn't show his fascination back then, of course, but he did wonder if the Commodore was feeling the same way. They never got the chance to sort that out, unfortunately, and here they are. Now, they have all the time in the world to find out more about each other... that's if the conceited dredgie will lower his unnecessarily kept up guard.

They do not speak much after this. Jack prefers to let the salvaged emotional cargo loosen up a bit and mend his wounds as they sail towards the illuminated vivid sea they both know and love so much.

◇◇◇

When James sees the sunrise again, he can't suppress the nostalgic smile that rejuvenates his elegant features. It's even more enchanting than he remembers, but then again, it's been years since he last saw the gold rays of the sun playfully beaming in the sky. The fleeting moment of serenity is cut short by the realisation that he will never feel the sunlight's warmth ever again or the soothing caress of the iridescent ripples of the salty water as the cool breeze dances with the pristine sails of a lang syne sunk Dauntless.

The sound of booted steps catches his attention as it stops beside him. He doesn't even cast a glance, he knows who stands by his side.

"Beautiful, ain't it?"

A genuine curve of the lips is all he gives in response, grateful for the companionable silence that envelops them and to Jack for keeping his mouth shut for once in his life.

They don't go back under the sea, they stay like this until the silver rays of the moon cascade over them, tranquil waves mirroring the stars twinkling in their ancient constellations.

They let themselves drown in shared solitude, both of them deserve it.

◇◇◇

Years skim across the ruthless waves of time as everyone they once knew live their lives and they remain the same, never aging, never changing, constant like the gentle rocking of the wood under their feet.

Surprisingly, it didn't take them long to have a full conversation without bickering, chuckles, jokes and, strangely enough, light philosophical talks becoming their thing after just a few months of sailing together. They still argue a lot, of course, but that's how they work or else they wouldn't be... well... **them**. Fate had a funny way of showing how opposites attract as they immersed themselves into one another, into adventurous stories of the past, into trivial secrets, hidden wishes and lost loves. You can say they discovered the real souls once restrained by their mortal bodies. Jack tells James about his younger days, about Fitz's betrayal, about Blackbeard and Angelica and about the battle with El Matador del Mar. James, in turn, recalls memories about his childhood and his father. He tells Jack that when he was but a boy a pirate saved him from the turbid embrace of th sea. He tells him about how one Lawrence Norrington would have rather his own son die than be rescued by that scoundrel. It turns out that said pirate was Jack's old man, Edward Teague. They laughed at the coincidence.

There is one little problem, though, something inside both of them began to stir at some point during their developing friendship and neither of them knows what it is or when it started.

Perhaps it all began the first night James had witnessed the sacred duty of ferrying the souls.

◇◇◇

_Ardent flames illuminate the starry sky, bouncing off the crystal clear surface of the salty water whilst loud screeches echo through the frigid air. The storm is slowly dying away along with the anguished screams of sailors who survived the whirlpool, but did not escape the scorching fire. Wood creaks as masts fall, sails burn, the carved siren on the worn-out hull spilling saline tears as the vessel slowly sinks more and more with each passing second._

_Jack will be busy tonight it seems._

_He looks at the Dutchman's captain. The spark that awakened soon after they met is gone, an eerie vibe taking its place when the galleon was summoned by Lady Death. Now, looking at that gaunt and half-transformed face, he finally sees how truly damaged Sparrow has become... the kohl once highlighting mysterious eyes has faded long ago, the tan skin is pale and greenish, and his smile... so rare, but still so pure when it brightens frail features. A sense of pride grazes James' mind because he is the only one that can get that reaction out of Jack._

_As they wait for the gold and crimson swirls of fire to quench themselves into nothingness, pity blends with sadness._

 

_"Are there any survivors?"_

 

_"No."_

 

_Jack's cold and curt answer is striking, yet not. The sudden need to comfort him makes James' arm move on its own, lifting to firmly place a ghostly hand on the pirate's shoulder. It's pointless, neither of them can feel the contact, but he lets his fingers grip the tense muscle nonetheless. He is not sure if Jack sees his hand lingering there, the corsair gives no sign that he does, but James could swear that a slight twitch flickers before his eyes._

 

_In this moment, right here, right now, with Jack, he finds the solace he searched for all his life._

 

_At last._

 

◇◇◇

 

Perhaps it began that time when he let sorrow and emotional exhaustion take over him. God... how fragile he was in that moment of weakness. In retrospect, it was his fault, he started that tête-à-tête.

 

◇◇◇

_They're drifting into that moonless chasm again, flares of light floating everywhere around as Jack and James watch over them, side by side, two otherworldly beings who connect._

 

_"Do you miss them?"_

 

_The slurred whisper he gets in response sends shivers down his spine._

 

_"Yes..."_

 

 _It's so peculiar to hear Jack be so serious, the yes replacing the_ _aye an obvious change from routine leisure to complete demureness._

 

_Silence._

 

_"Do **you** miss them?"_

 

_Hesitation._

 

_"Yes..."_

 

_He misses them because they were part of his life, he didn't want to lose that life, but he loved Elizabeth too much to let her lose hers. His choice was made before he even knew he'll have to make that sacrifice. James made it without regret._

_At his side, Jack shifts slightly. Slender fingers come into his line of vision, dangerously close to his face. Out of instinct, he tries to step back. Too late. A palm rests tentatively upon his cheek, thumb moving in familiar motions... wiping..._

 

_"You're crying, Jamie... s'okay, you're crying."_

 

_He can't feel the gentle touch or the tears streaming down his cheeks... he can't feel them... he cries harder, eyelids closing tight._

_After a while, he manages to keep the unnecessary gasps under control,_ _gradually opening his glassy eyes. He's startled when equally glassy orbs meet his, close, **too close** , peering deep into the essence of his soul. Oh, how he_ _wishes he could feel the cool forehead leaning against his._

 

_Silence..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in my world, ghosts can be touched and can cry, it's even more angsty this way. Also, for those who might not know, Fitzwilliam P. Dalton III aka Fitz is James' cousin.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is more than welcome! Hugs!


	4. Of Shadows and Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated, Jack's and James' less than alive states being the least of their problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but exams are such a pain in the ass. Anyway, I'm feeling a bit uncertain about the path of this story... because my skills at creating dialogue, a stable storyline and a true to character portrayal are quite... meh... or so I think. I don't know if I should continue or not so any opinions on the matter are extremely welcome, as well as any advice regarding the improvement of my writing style and the fate of this fic.
> 
> But, for now, enjoy!

Somewhere out on the Stygian gloss of the ocean, an ebony colossus of burnt wood and thorns glides gracefully across sluggish ripples, its crimson sails mingling with the pristine moonlight to create the enchanting illusion of a flaring flame simmering above the surface of the tranquil water.

Beautiful... if only there was the same tranquility onboard.

"Let go of me, you mindless brute!"

The high-pitched demand falls on deaf ears... that is if the thing manhandling her  **has**  ears at all.

She continues to struggle whilst she's yanked forward by her bound wrists and through the crowd of hideous creatures, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she recalls the pure massacre that played out before her not long ago. 

Everything happened so fast, they didn't see it coming till it was too late.

◇◇◇

_She gently kisses Henry's forehead one last time, tucking the blanket under the boy's chin before leaving the cabin to go up on deck. Will is waiting for her at the Roebuck's helm._

_Delicate fingers caress tense muscles as she leans her head on his shoulder, staring into the darkness of the night._

_"Do you think we will find it?"_

_"We have to."_

_"What if we don't... what'll happen then."_

_"We will, I'm sure we'll find the scale, then... then Jack will be free."_

_She buries her nose deeper into the soiled fabric covering Will's shoulder, inhaling his comforting smell as they fall silent._

_Clouds of mist materialise out of thin air above the water, but they pay it no mind, it's not something unusual. They make their way through the thick fog for a while, nothing out of the ordinary catching their attention despite their astute scrutiny. All the equanimity falls apart, however, when they spot an eerie ship emerging from the vaporous veil. At first, it seems to be completely barren, not a soul roaming its deck as the red hue of its sails collides with the black wood of its masts. Distracted and focused on the ghostly vessel, they don't expect the shadows that arise through the deck, screeches and sniggers accompanying the inky forms._

_It doesn't take long before chaos ensues. Blood soaks the once clean deck of the Roebuck in no time, sadistic laughter booming over the agonised screams of the crew as throats are slashed by sharp cutlasses and bones crushed under falling masts._

_Back to back, Elizabeth and Will dodge and parry and charge in vain, trying to survive the relentless attack of the shadows._

_"Take Henry and abandon ship!"_

_"Bu-"_

_"Elizabeth! Go!"_

_Sidestepping one of the grinning silhouettes, she makes a rush for the captain's cabin. She finds Henry cowering in the far corner of the room, three shadows hovering over his tiny trembling body, yet strangely refraining from harming him._

_Her mouth opens to call out to the boy, but a stinging pain at the back of her head stops her, black specks blurring her vision as the floor keeps getting closer and closer._

◇◇◇

She doesn't know what happened to the rest of the crew and, worst of all, she doesn't know what happened to Will and it kills her. At this thought, she can't suppress the miserable sob that escapes her lungs along with a few stray tears.

They go below deck and it's quite clear that she's being taken to the brig.

When she sees her son unconscious on the filthy floor, rage blinds her senses. She doesn't get the chance to lash out though, a familiar sting making her dizzy before she goes limp.

◇◇◇

Yet another fretful night keeps them away from the relative sense of peace they've found. At least three wreckages lighting up the tumultuous water and the starless sky. There seems to be a pattern and an resemblance between the destructions, but maybe it's just their imagination. They do not discuss their shared suspicions.

Sunrise is a few hours away, and Jack has only one soul left to collect.

They don't expect that soul to be Will's. When they recognise the battered body taking his last breaths on a sole chunk of wood floating in the middle of the sea, the world suddenly falls apart for Jack, his ticker clenching in its chest with agonising beats... beats of grief and sorrow... oh, how he loathes these long-forgotten beats, the ones that claw at his mind with the realisation that human life is so damn ephemeral, with the realisation that friends and enemies alike are slowly perishing while he is an immortal without heart.

James feels the captain's excruciating pain as if it is his own... in a way, it is. He can't say that he'll weep for William Turner, but the remote ache that makes his phantasmal form quiver says otherwise... maybe because the blacksmith, too, was once part of his life, just like Elizabeth and Jack. They stare in silence as the galleon drifts closer, eyes never leaving the raft.

"He's dying... isn't he?" the words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

The audible sob that comes from Jack is heartbreaking, green eyes snapping instantly to his hunched figure. No tears adorn the pallid skin, but the spasmodic trembles are clearly visible as feet seem to give out. James moves to take a hold of him, but the pirate doesn't fall, however, he catches himself before his knees get the chance to buckle completely.

This reaction is the only confirmation he needed. Will Turner is lost.

They drag his half-dead body onboard, streaks of spiritual energy pouring out to create a semi-opaque, vaporous, and oddly serene copy of Will, a sign that his soul is gradually leaving its mortal trap. As soon as they lay his body on the hard wooden deck things change, however. Unfocused eyes whirl frantically around, a mantra of barely discernible words that sound too much along the lines of Elizabeth, Henry and gone accompanying the almost mad behaviour. Jack tries to snap him out of his delirious musings, but Will doesn't show signs of recognising the man at all. Something's definitely wrong. Souls should be lucid as they begin their journey to the afterlife... but not Will's it seems.

"Will! Will, me lad! Get a grip!"

There is nothing James can do except helplessly watch Jack try again and again to bring back whatever remnant of sanity is left in Will's soul. Useless, touch is out of question, it goes right through, and words can't break through to wake him up from his incoherence.

Somewhere in the background the anguished cries of Bootstrap echo faintly as he calls for his son while Jack orders the crew to take him bellow deck. It might be a cruel thing to do, but he doesn't need more agitation that there already is.

Desperation, hints of hysteria and impuissance merge to form a tornado of emotions as the pirate paces about with frustration and repressed fury, one thought standing out in all the pathematic mayhem, save what's left of Will.

Making up his mind, James reaches out to grab Jack's arm out of habit, knowing that the other can't feel his touch, but sure that he saw his movement.

Brown meets green in an instant, agitation draining slightly from the filibuster's body.

"Jack, listen to me! I have an idea, but you need to calm down and let me try."

The unsaid message shining in Jack's eyes is clear _"I'm putting my trust in you. Don't let me down."_

It makes things even more difficult, but James is confident it will be successful. He approaches the distraught soul, keeping a safe distance and a somber tone.

"Turner!"

Frenzied motions stop, receding to asynchronous fumbles towards the extraneous chime as hazy orbs turn in his direction, yet go past his form at the same time. It's like the boy doesn't even know where he is or see, for that matter.

James continues to let the sound of his voice guide the disoriented esprit. When things seem to be going nowhere with Will's condition, he tentatively extends his arm to shake the man's shoulder.

"Turner! Look at me!"

It works.

Equally spectral pupils focus on him, the blurry lines suddenly becoming sharp while they materialise into a solid shape, similar to his own and certainly more sane than a few seconds ago. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Jack's kneeling form, faint and hardly quelled weeps reaching his ears. He refuses to look at the pirate, else he'll break too.

"Norrington? Wha- how?"

"I see you've dropped every bit of mannerism left in you."

"We're dead, _sir_ , would it do me any good? No, so why keep false pretences?"

The bitter irony in those words does not go unnoticed, but the man is right, what once mattered doesn't anymore, they're dead.

A confused voice interrupts his train of thought, drawing his attention to Jack.

"Sorry t' interrupt what I'm sure is a heartfelt reunion, but there's one wee problem, Jamie. I can't see his soul anymore."

If this is destiny's way of tormenting him even after death, then it is not funny at all... it's more than perplexing and although he has an eternity on his hands now, he lack the patience and the energy to go through another stupendous adventure... **again**.

Looking from Jack to Will, back and forth, he comes to the conclusion that the pirate really is oblivious to the other's presence "What do you mean? You're supposed to see him, you're his ferryman!"

"Well there be two possibilities. One, I've been blessed wit' an untimely vacation. Two, somethin's really wrong 'ere."

"How very elaborate of you, Sparrow. Of course something's wrong! It's been wrong from the moment he died!"

As the third part, Will has had enough, a deadpan stopping their bickering "Obviously."

The narrowed pair of green eyes is enough to silence him for a moment.

"Mister Turner, is this a joke to you?"

"Certainly not, being dead is not the most brilliant jest to be honest, but a little humor never hurt anyone..." a pensive pause, followed by a chuckle "Well, except for Jack."

"I would prefer it if you would take these matters seriously, my tolerance to such attitudes has been rather low lately."

"Aye, aye, your highness."

A slightly bony hand suddenly waves between them, making the two ghosts redirect their line of sight to Jack who is looking straight at Will despite the fact that he can't see him.

" 'ello, me again. Forgive me for cuttin' in, but someone's gotta ask. What happened t' you, Will?"

Pause.

"I... I don't remember."


	5. La Nuit Est Jeune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing about the situation they are in gets clearer, but one thing is for sure, they will sail to Tortuga once again. Plus a little bonus scene at the end of the chapter, in hopes it makes it more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exams are killing me and probably it's obvious enough from the way I wrote this chapter :)) I wish it was longer, but I've hit my limit a bit, I have ideas, but I cannot seem to put them into word very well.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this fifth wonderful chapter of my story, folks! 
> 
> Constructive criticism is more than welcome, as usual.

"Oh, that is **wonderful**. As if it wasn't enough that I died, now I'm going to be caught up again in your legendary twisted meddlings. I imagined that peace will await me, but it seems that God's version of peace always has you two in it."

"I th-"

"No one asked you, Sparrow."

A smirk spreads across the pirate's icy lips "Aaa, so it's Sparrow now. You deeply wound me, Jamie."

The glare he receives does nothing to deter his amusement, it only fuels it further because, despite their current situation, everything reminds him of the old times, when he had a heart and he was free, roaming the sweet embrace of the sea with his Pearl, when James was alive and even more stuck-up than in death, when Will was but a boy searching for his father and Elizabeth a lass in hopes of finding adventure. Oh, how he misses those times, he misses them like he misses air flowing through his lungs, the thrill to swim underwater until you can't hold your breath anymore and the exhilarating feeling of oxygen revitalising every fiber in your body. Yes... Jack misses his physical humanity so much... but at least he kept some of his emotional one so he's not a lost cause... yet.

Heaving an aggravated sigh, the former Admiral shifts his keen sight back to Will.

"Before you died, you were mumbling something about Elizabeth and your son, I suppose you don't remember about that either."

It's not surprising that a pang of guilt courses through James when he sees the downcast and completely helpless look that grazes the blacksmith's features. Maybe he shouldn't have made himself sound so harsh, it isn't the man's fault that he can't remember what happened. He feels ashamed.

"Forgive me, I... I know you hold no liability for this."

"But I should... I can feel it..."

"Right now, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we find them before it's too late."

A few moments pass in contemplation before a meek and pained whisper reaches the Britisher's ears.

"What..." gulp "What if they are dead?"

The reply is almost instant and peculiarly emotional coming from Norrington.

"They are not!"

His outburst brings silence onboard yet again, his refusal to believe that there might be some truth in Will's words clear as day.

Crossing his arms over his chest, a pensive look taking over his eyes, James restlessly prods his mind for a solution _"There must be a way to find them..."_

"Jamie."

No reaction.

"Jamie!"

He jumps, startled by the thunderous voice "What!"

Mouth slightly agape, the bewigged man stares wide-eyed at the familiar compass dangling in front of his face from slender fingers.

"Tell me, luv, what is it you want most?"

After the initial shock, inevitable annoyance glistens in green irises.

"We've been trying to come up with a way to get out of this utter nuisance of a disaster for the past half an hour and you had it all along?!?"

"I tried t' tell ye, but you were bent on ignorin' me precious presence."

James lips part to make one of his witty remarks, but nothing comes out. Well... he did focus more on Will and the stabilisation of his mental state than on Jack.

"Very well then, use it and be done with it."

"Oh, I would, believe me, I really would, but, you see, I can't."

The incredulous expression on the Englishman's face is jocular, accompanied by the intent to voice his disbelief. He is stopped before than can happen, however, Jack's raised index finger halting any complaint.

"Ah, 'tis me turn t' speak. Since I 'ave no heart, th' compass cannot actually sense what I desire most, right? So th' only option we 'ave is to go after th' Pearl 'n hope that ole Mister Gibbs will be able t' help us. What do ye say?"

Will makes up his mind before Norrington does, although Jack can't hear him.

"Sounds like a plan, don't you think?"

After a few minutes of pondering the pirate's suggestion, the former Admiral makes his decision too.

"Fine, we'll do it your way, we don't have any other options at the moment anyway, but first, I have one question. If they are on land, how do you propose we contact them?"

A sheepish smile comes across Jack's face, he's not sorry at all for what he's going to say next nor is he sorry for the imminent annoyance that is sure to appear on James' pale features.

"I've no idea."

This answer comes as no surprise to the stoic Navy officer, it's quite typical, but it's still extremely irksome to put up with the pirate's ways of taking action. He refrains from rolling his eyes and just sighs before nodding.

Taking it as the consent that it means, the captain of the Dutchman summons his authority quickly, suddenly more spirited than he's ever been since the curse.

"On deck, you scurvy dogs! Get ready to make sail!"

At the sound of his voice the bustle commences immediately, every member of the crew rushing to follow Jack's orders and assumes their posts.

"Where we headin' cap'n?" asks the half-man, half-shark helmsman.

The wide smirk that tilts Jack's lips is unmistakable, a smirk that both Will and James have seen very often.

"Tortuga."

◇◇◇

Meanwhile, somewhere in the foggy veil of the Atlantic the ground rumbles under the briny water as razor-edged crests peek through the surface, rising slowly from the depths of the sea along with leafless trees and smooth coal-black sanded beaches.

A lonely figure stands rooted in the soft dunes of the shore, shocked eyes staring into the distance, meant to be forever etched in stone. But all enchantingly eerie sceneries are designed to be broken at some point, be it after weeks or months or years or centuries after their creation. For the delicate statue silently guarding the island the time has come.

Granite eyes begin to glow, their golden light illuminating the foam and the trails of water caressing the sand, like a beacon for the creatures of the sea, for the moon, the stars, the sailors lost into the darkness of Poseidon's endless lands, for the ship she sent away to wander long and wide until the time for them to rise shall have arrived.

Yes... she will be free to roam the world again and those who dare stand in her way will perish like the poor unfortunate souls they are, her sweet song leading them to eternal perdition and damnation as they wail and beg and fade into the dawn.

 

_La nuit est jeune, m'apprend la ride_

_À vogue encore le soir pour qu'apparaisse la flamme,_

_La flamme torride,_

_J'aimerais tuer la Diablesse qui tourmente cette femme_

_La femme qui a vendu son âme_

_Au Diable lui-même afin_

_Qu'elle puisse vraiment être sa dame._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is a combination of some lyrics I found and personal modifications and additions. It translates into:
> 
> The night is young, it teaches me the way  
> To sail again into the evening so that the flame appears,  
> This torrid flame,  
> I'd like to kill the She-Devil who torments this woman,  
> The woman who sold her soul  
> To the Devil himself  
> So that she can be his lady.
> 
> Forgive any translation mistakes, I know French well enough to read and write a bit, but I'm not that good at properly translating phrases.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated as always. Hugs!


	6. Close, But Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more details about Elizabeth's whereabouts and a moment of realisation for our favourite pair of bickering fools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exams are finally over and I AM FREEEE!!! YAAAS! Free, but still incapable of writing more than 1000 something words per chapter. I will get to that, I promise!

Blades of parched grass undulate with the saline breeze, tickling her nose when she regains consciousness, mire partly glueing her face to the ground along with a dull pain that throbs in her bruised wrists from what she is sure are shackles fastened around them. Her whole being is freezing and the world is painfully spinning, bleary eyes opening with great effort, after what seems like an eternity spent nailed to the hard wooden floor of the brig. It takes a few minutes to get her pupils to focus on her surroundings, but, in the end, she prevails and she doesn't like one bit what greets the frantic shifting of her light brown orbs. There is no trace of Henry and she is completely isolated into some kind of worn-out cage, left to languish in the mud. Rusty metal bars dance across her vision as she props the dead weight that is her body on trembling arms and legs in a poor attempt to push herself up into a sitting position, the motion making her head ache like it just might explode while a wave of nausea numbs her senses for a few seconds. The once soothing full moon seems to mock her now, casting its malevolent curtain of silver light between the charred branches looming over her exhausted form. Thank God she is used to sinister sceneries, else she would have fainted from fear long ago.

"Hello?! Anybody there!?"

A chilling hoot is the only answer she gets before deafening silence impairs her mind, shivers running up and down her spine. Summoning every drop of strength she has left in her veins, she crawls on all fours towards the jammed entrance. The large lock waiting there shatters any hopes of getting out of here, but she takes a shot at breaking it nonetheless, furiously smashing her manacles against the slightly corroded steel.

"Let me out! Let me out, you bloody bastards! Where is my son? What have you done with him!?!?"

Clink after clink after clink echoes in the darkness while Elizabeth tries desperately to crack the annoying piece of rubbish. In vain. Luck is not on her side this time. With a frustrated growl, she curls her grimy hands into fists before heaving out a sigh, letting them fall into her lap, head hung low in temporary defeat. Thoughts drift back to the attack on their ship. Faceless shadows slaughtered each and every member of the crew except her and Henry. She wants to believe that Will escaped somehow, but her straining heart tells her otherwise... The thought that they will be together again never died before and it won't now, there is always a way. And that way might be the one man they were trying to save from an eternity without a heart. It's inevitable, Will and Jack's encounter, her husband is a man who died at sea after all, the captain of the Flying Dutchman must ferry his soul and this is her only anchor of faith in this situation, the hope that these two helplessly adventurous men, who keep dragging her in otherworldly messes, will find a way to come out of this unscathed.

She is brought out of her musings by a jeering snigger, golden eyes glowing eerily in the dark as a curvy silhouette slinks its way through the scorched canopy of trees before it stops short of stepping into the light.

"Well, well, the damsel in distress is finally awake! Took you some time, darlin'."

It's odd how melodious the woman's voice is, husky, yet feminine, made for seduction and deception, but, at the same time, laced with malice, spite, emotions Elizabeth is no stranger to by now, she's experienced them first hand throughout the years, Beckett, Davy Jones, Calypso, all blinded either by greed, by rage or betrayal.

"Who are you?"

From her spot behind the struts, she can barely see the smirk widening across umbrageous features, a hoofed foot revealing itself to the rays of the moon.

"A fate worse than death."

◇◇◇

After their prompt accord, everything and everyone aboard the Dutchman is quiet, the lullaby of the waves steadily leading them to Tortuga whilst one James Norrington rests his elbows the galleon's gunwale, marveling at the enchanting full moon. Inherently, he despises that he was dragged once again into the hazardous exploits of a pirate he spent a very long time trying to bring to his appointed meeting with the gallows. Yes, he absolutely loathes that he finds himself in this situation for the hundredth time. His idea of eternal peace was certainly not following this path. On the bright side, it seems that his pending afterlife will not be as tedious as it was before.

His train of thought is interrupted by the distinctive slur he came to find comfort in.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

They remain silent for a while, relishing in the gentle zephyr while they let themselves get lost in serenity. It has become their **thing** , let's say, to just enjoy each other's company and the sea's embrace. It's the only link to humanity they have left. Besides, these moments are the ones James finds solace most, the steady form of the bygone captain of the Black Pearl anchoring him into this strange reality. He also cannot say that he doesn't delights in stealing glances at the pirate in all his half-alive glory, despite the occasional barnacled spots. Strong jaw, plump lips, perfectly straight nose make Jack one fine specimen and the former Admiral can't believe he hadn't seen that before. Combined with the unruly tangled mane and the unique charisma of what can be described as purely Sparrow, he actually thinks that many have fallen for the pirate... of both genders. Good God, he sounds like a woman, better answer that question. 

"Don't you find it strange that, after all the fights and insults we somehow ended up here?"

Jack's amused snicker disrupts the tranquility around them for a few moments.

"Aye, s'funny how me head's still on me shoulders with you aboard."

A fond look warms both pairs of eyes as James turns his head to glance at Jack. Time seems to stop when dark-brown meets sea-green. They're lost no more in tranquility, now they are lost in each other, feeling so calm... so fresh... so **alive**. Perhaps, it isn't the first time it happens, no, not perhaps, they  **know** it isn't the first time, but somehow it's different... stirring in more ways than one. Neither says a word as they just stand before one another motionless... the urge to touch incredibly powerful despite their incapability of feeling said touch. It's fascinating how they do not even realise they start leaning closer until their lips are a hair's breadth away.

"Cap'n! Where's my son?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a tease :> Forgive me, MrsAna!


	7. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspection, introspection aaaand introspection, who doesn't love it? With a little hint regarding the two Turners stuck somewhere I won't reveal yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You must've gotten tired of my philosophical strikes, but that's how I roll so I just had to write some clutter of introspection, more or less coherent. I also was too lazy to write more dialogue between Jack and Bootstrap, but I hope I digressed well enough. 
> 
> A huge lack of inspiration overwhelmed me and I apologise for making you wait and possibly disappoint you with the way I write at the moment. I sincerely hope you will somehow enjoy this chapter. Hugs!

They jump apart as if burned, looking anywhere but at each other. If they could blush, their faces would've been embarrassingly tinged beet red. Thankfully, they can't, so it isn't as awkward as it could have been. Looking at the clearly distressed Bootstrap waiting for an explanation regarding his son's fate, Jack mumbles a quick excuse before pulling an extremely typical vanishing act, leaving James to his own devices. In both of their heads a storm of emotions is brewing, confusion, frustration, hope, desire, all curling around each other in layers and layers of denial and deliberate indifference. The impossibility of actually acting on these impulses only makes it worse, they can't punch each other, they can't kiss each other or any other physical release of tension... well... they can, but it would mean nothing since neither of them is able to feel the other's touch.

Turning his wary eyes back to the bright moon, James tunes out the gradually  departing voices of the two pirates, already contemplating what changed in the way he acknowledges Jack and, more importantly, when that change took place. The answer he comes up with isn't pleasing at all, the reality of it shattering his well fortified composure. Sure, he admitted to the miscreant's alluring presence the second they met, but he pegged it as nothing more than momentary attraction, brief, wavering and entirely not worth of consideration. Before he died, after he gave up his position as Commodore, everything he did indubitably aimed to help him regain his position and erstwhile prestige. It wasn't in vain, he became Admiral after all, but he wasn't content or at peace with his achievement. His love for Elizabeth ultimately called out to his noble spirit, interfering with everything he obtained... it was more or less to be expected at some point. In the end, it got him killed, but he didn't and doesn't regret the choice he made, he was himself again. After he died, time stopped and darkness governed the remaining part of his soul along with guilt, shame, rage and regret, thoughts, illusions, slivers of memories of any other kind eluding him... perhaps because he felt he was damned, perhaps because he warded them off on purpose so that he can torture himself for eternity. Hence, he didn't have the slightest intention of bringing Sparrow into his bubble of self torment so he isolated any concept of the pirate's being into the deepest corners of his mind. In retrospect, he should have anticipated that his supposedly eternal slumber will not be eternal or slumberous at all, but he was still taken aback by the rush of emotions flooding his senses when he saw Jack after God knows how long. Looking back, he should've figured out right then that something was off because, despite his cold exterior, he wanted to punch and drown the pirate just as much as he wanted to hug and kiss him which was surprising in itself because why would he even think of kissing the scoundrel he fiercely wanted to hang when alive if there wasn't at least a hint of affection hidden in his soul ever since they met. It's also worth mentioning that teary incident... he showed so much weakness in front of someone he never really trusted before. No wonder the answer he's been searching for is that... somehow... over the span of their adventures he began fostering ambiguous yet unequivocal feelings towards Jack, feelings that got solid when they saw each other in the afterlife.

In the meantime, below deck, said pirate fights his way through questions and sorrows of a worried father who can't understand why his son died and why his captain can't see him. While Jack can relatively relate to Bootstrap's bewilderment and desperation, his mind flies over neglected and previously presumed barren territories of emotions and first impressions, inevitably stopping at the image of one James Norrington pointing his sword at his precious face. He's trying to explain to his crew mate how things are with Will, he really does, but he's not sure it's working since his head is completely elsewhere, reminiscing his encounters with the former Commodore and the way the blue-blooded man stirred his heart. He's probably going to get too philosophical and sentimental, very unSparrow-y with this analysis of self-knowledge, but he has to do it once in a while, it helps him keep his humanity in check. Now Jack has never been the one to deny what was obviously true and almost palpable, like the desire that surged through him when his eyes met James' that moment an eternity ago when he saved Elizabeth. No, he actually longed for the animal magnetism that rarely crossed his path, still does. With James, however, things were more than pure lust, it was _**different**_... on all levels. Besides the incontestable delight of the physical aspect, something fluttery and warm awakened in the buccaneer's ticker. Funny enough, he knew from the beginning what that 'something' was, unlike his pristine counterpart, but he refused and still refuses to admit it because he can't grasp yet the reason for that feeling he swore to never drown in again. Then, James died, the sturdy presence that was always chasing him vanished and Jack was left empty. That's why, when he found James in the purgatorial abyss, he felt truly **_alive_** just from a sole glance. He didn't negate that, but he did negate the tingling of locked heart. In the end, the 'never denying' part is accurate only for carnal urges because, clearly, he's been repudiating the truth for quite a while.

"Cap'n?"

Shaking his head slightly, Jack tries to keep his focus on Bootstrap, although the man already figured out his inattention.

"S'rry, s'rry, me mind s'not really 'ere at th' moment."

"I asked ye wha's the plan."

"Ah, yes, th' plan. There be only one, sail t' Tortuga 'n find Mister Gibbs. No questions."

This answer gets him a wavering look, soon followed by a somewhat confident nod, Bootstrap always stood up for him, even though he did nothing to stop the renowned mutiny rallied against him. He's left alone after this, unsure if he should go back on deck or stay where he is. Like the coward he usually is, he chooses to sit down with his back pressed to the cold metal of a canon and doze off for a bit in hopes his brain will reset itself at least partially before he faces James again.

◇◇◇

When the woman steps into the silver light, shivers fly straight up Elizabeth's already frigid spine. Golden eyes stare into hers with eerie intent, ruby lips parted in a hollow laugh as they split the dark skin on her captor's seemingly smooth face. She can't shake off the impression that all of this is just a perfectly carved illusion meant to fool naive people, naive _**men**_... much like mermaids if she thinks about it. Maybe she would've doubted her arising fears if not for the hoofed foot firmly planted in the sand. It's more than enough confirmation to her suspicion.

"Who are you, you fiend? I won't ask again."

Unsurprisingly, she laughs even louder before quieting down to an ominous leer, eyes cast to the side while she takes a step closer, making Elizabeth instinctively shift a shade back.

"Ah, little missy has a temper, tsk, tsk, tsk."

The heavy atmosphere is unsettling as brown orbs never stray from their target until golden ones suddenly snap back to her with unleashed anger and flames encircle her cage out of nowhere, engulfing the woman.

"You will refrain from speaking to me like that again, _**human**_."

So she really is something else... it complicates her situation... but then again when were things ever simple for a Turner. Deciding to remain silent, Elizabeth keeps her eyes firmly set on the... creature in front of her, visibly not burning. After a few moments, the fire dies down and its caster reverts to her previous cold and superior attitude, cruel smile tilting the corners of her lips.

"I came here thinking that you might want to see your son, darlin', but it seems I was wrong."

Desperate eyes widen in a flash, chains rattling around her wrists when she begins to struggle towards the metal bars.

"What did you do to Henry!?! Where is he?!?"

"Oh, don't you worry, the boy is fine. I must say, you aren't a very good mother, sweety, he's quite happy without you."

"Where is he, wench!?!"

This time, the nameless woman doesn't rage, she only sniggers as she turns to leave, gown swaying along with the uneven movement of her legs.

"It won't be for long, but let's give him a semblance of joy... before he dies, shall we?"

◇◇◇

"Mommy! Daddy! Catch me! Catch me!"

Cheerful giggles echo in the serene valley, dark blond strands swirling with the breeze whilst a boy jumps from his swing, flying with the chirping birds and multicoloured butterflies above the green, green field specked with vibrant poppies. They catch him in their warm embrace, whispering suave words of love and comfort as they hold him tight.

"We love you, Henry."

He's happy, snuggling like a puppy in their arms, unaware that faceless shadows grin at one another while they sing their song.

"We love you, Henry."

"We love you, Henry."

"We love you, Henry."

.

.

.

"Never leave usss..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to mention that on PotC Wikia Henry's hair is described as brown, but I stubbornly refuse to see it as such so I chose to make it dark blond because that's just how my eyes experience colour, even if as a kid he did have some brown in those strands too.


End file.
